The Other Side - Aftermath
by Banshi13
Summary: Episode tag to Season 4's episode The Other Side. Jack O'Neill made a choice, and it was abundantly clear that Samantha Carter didn't agree. After that stare down between them on the gate room ramp, this is an attempt at how a conversation between the two may have gone. J/S (of course). This story is finished.


_I've been going on a tear recently regarding Stargate SG-1 and Stargate Atlantis. I watched The Other Side a few nights ago, and when I saw the last scene with Jack and Sam staring at each other, I really wanted to know what a conversation between the two after all was said and done would be like. This story is the product of those thoughts._ _I also felt I needed to be extremely careful towards the end with how I portrayed Jack and Sam's feelings for each other, as the all important episode 'Divide and Conquer' appears two episodes after 'The Other Side'._ _I, of course, own nothing. Jack O'Neill and Samantha Carter, as well as the Stargate universe, are the property of MGM Worldwide Television Production, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Film Corp._

 _ **The Other Side - Aftermath**_

It had been two days since Jack had returned from the Eurondan home world. Two days since SG-1 realized they'd 'been had', and in the worst way. Two days since the team, after discovering what the Eurondans had really been up to, had destroyed the underground bunker, and most, if not everyone else, along with it.

Two days since his 2IC had stared at him on the ramp in the gate room with an expression that, thankfully, only her commanding officer could see, and that was meant only for him. Jack knew that when Carter turned around the look she had been giving him would be replaced. With what, he didn't know, but Major Samantha Carter was in a league of her own when it came to concealing her true feelings when she wanted to. It was the biggest difference between him and her; she could choose when to hide what she was thinking or feeling. For Colonel Jack O'Neill, it was second nature. He had no choice – his default was to mask his true emotions or thoughts about anything, usually with humor.

But there was no humor to be found on that ramp, or in the gate room, or at the debrief, not even when Hammond had graced SG-1 with a week's down time. The group had simply filed out of the room with no words spoken between them. They'd gone to the infirmary, showered, changed, and by that point Teal'C, Daniel, and Jack were engaging in idle chatter, but Carter remained tight lipped, giving only one word answers or a nod of her head as a response to something someone had said or asked. Daniel had suggested dinner at O'Malley's, and while Teal'C and Jack had decided to join in, Sam had begged off, saying she just wanted to head home and sleep for the night.

That had been two days ago, and Jack hadn't heard from her since. Throughout the previous day, he'd given her her space. He instinctively knew that Sam needed to sort through some things in her mind. He'd seen that look of realization and horror before – not just on her face, but on that of others. She didn't have to tell him she disagreed vehemently with his order to close the iris, both knowing that the Eurondan leader, Alar, had begged for his life and likely thrown himself into the wormhole after the rest of SG-1 had gone through. It was why he'd held her gaze so long on that ramp. Carter had been looking for validation: 'Did you really do that?' That was the question those blue eyes had been asking, and when he didn't break eye contact with her, the question became a statement: 'I can't believe you did that.'

And when O'Neill still said nothing, only acquiesced to the command for a debrief and glancing briefly at Hammond as he did so, Sam had turned away from him, a mask of acceptance.

But only a mask.

It was now nearing dusk on the second day since not having seen or spoken to Sam. Jack had gotten a phone call from Daniel earlier in the day, but when he'd asked about Carter, the archaeologist deflected (poorly) from discussing her and instead made a rush to get off the phone a few minutes later.

Not a good sign.

So, within the living room of his home was where Jack O'Neill currently sat, a Guinness long since gone luke warm balanced on his leg by a hand while he stared across the room at a picture of a woman he hadn't spoken with in three years.

Sarah had looked at him the exact same way Carter had when she'd first heard a sample of Jack's storied history. Without giving away specifics, Jack had managed to get the point across to Sarah that he'd had to do some terrible things in his line of work. At the time, he'd told her because he'd hoped that she would be able to see past it, and she did, eventually.

Carter was different. Carter knew he had a past filled with more classified missions and black-ops and redacted documents than any one person should ever have. It was as if in that moment, back on that ramp when they were staring at each other that she realized he could still be every bit the cold, calculating, unfeeling, and uncaring man he was when he was suited up in black armor assassinating whomever it was he'd had orders to kill. She was now attempting to reconcile that in her mind.

And that terrified him.

With Sarah, Jack had been able to plan what and how and when he told her some of the things he'd done. He'd been able to cushion the blow he'd given her with a dimly lit room, a fire place, and a bottle of wine. He'd had that luxury, and he'd been relatively certain that when he'd told his ex-wife, that she would stay with him. He had no such confidence that Carter would –

 _What? That she'd what? Stay with you?_

O'Neill took a swig of long forgotten beer and grimaced at the taste. Warm beer was no good, and it certainly wouldn't do for chasing away the fears that were beginning to surface. He pushed himself off the couch and headed up the two steps which would lead to his kitchen, but just before he crossed the threshold, the doorbell rang, and Jack froze.

It wouldn't be Teal'C; he was at the base. It wouldn't be Daniel; Jack had told him he didn't feel much like having visitors that evening, and begged off saying that he was tired. And unless General Hammond had suddenly felt the urge for a beer, that left only one person. Jack turned and looked at the door as though it were one of Doc Frasier's big needles that she reserved only for him. After a few moments, a knock came, and Jack let out a breath, trekking backwards and reaching for the door knob.

Looking back at him was a certain blonde haired, blue eyed astrophysicist with her hands buried in the pockets of her light jacket, looking for all the world as if it had taken every ounce of conviction she had to just lift her hand to knock. Jack looked past her to see her car in the drive way, bathed in rising moon light. In all honesty, it was easier for him to look at her car than the driver of it at the moment.

"Sir…."

"Carter," Jack cleared his throat, hand still on the knob of his door as he glanced down at the stoop. He watched her take a steadying breath, get her bearings. If there was one thing he'd learned over the few years he'd served with her, it was that in situations such as this, he was on her time.

"I um… was doing some shopping in town and..." She looked up at him. "I missed my exit off the highway and just thought to come here."

He regarded her for a few moments before stepping away from the door, leaving it open as a tacit invitation for her to come in. "Want a beer?" He called over his shoulder, hearing her step into the small foyer and shut the door behind her. She answered with something that sounded like a 'yes' as he entered the kitchen and opened the fridge to pull two bottles out, knocking the door closed with his foot. After opening both, he came back around towards the door and entered the living room where she'd planted herself.

"Thanks," she murmured quietly, taking the bottle but not bringing it to her lips to take a drink. Jack only nodded, moving past her to sit on the couch and when he did, he said nothing. In fact, it seemed the only thing he could do was give her furtive (some might say nervous) glances in the scientist's direction.

"So um… plans tonight?"

Jack always found it amusing the way a nervous Samantha Carter would attempt to make conversation, especially with him, and especially when she had something heavy on her mind regarding something he'd done specifically that she disagreed with. The problem was that tonight the amusement wasn't outweighing his trepidation.

"Carter, why don't we cut to the chase, hm?" He took a drink of his beer, watching her carefully. She was already on the defensive, and his curt statement made her freeze right in front of him. For a moment, her eyes radiated uncertainty but then, as he knew they would, those blue eyes steeled up into hardened resolve, and Jack O'Neill just knew he was about to be given a run for his money.

"You knew he followed."

"Alar." A statement, not a question.

"Yes." She responded.

"Through the Stargate," he clarified.

She turned to face him fully. "He'd done terrible things, he'd started a war, probably got hundreds, maybe thousands of people killed, but he was begging for his life –"

"A murderer begging for his life; where have I heard that one before?" Jack took a drink and looked at her, his expression clearly sending the message that this wasn't going to be a 'Sam tells Jack when he's wrong and he accepts it' situation that happened so often when they were at work.

"We could have let him through and allowed him to stand trial by his home world's laws." Sam stepped forward, anger beginning to seep through her voice. "They were beaten, most everyone was going to die –"

"And the Stargate was going to be buried in that explosion, Carter." He looked up at her. "He was on his way out."

"And you just helped him along?" She stared at him, and he was quiet for a few moments, silently contemplating his beer. She was right – he had helped Alar along, right to his grave, where he belonged. Jack didn't particularly care if he hadn't been the 'right' person to make that call. At the time, it was his call to make and make it he did. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long, slow sip before lowering it again and staring at his hands.

"You know what to do," he finally said quietly, looking up at her. Her eyes squinted just enough to let him know she didn't understand. "About me – about that," he said. "If you really disagree with my order to close the iris, if you really can't stand the fact that Alar went splat on the other side, you know what to do." He stood up, walking over towards her until he was less than a foot away. "Go to General Hammond. File a complaint – your guess as to whether it'll end up being 'conduct unbecoming' or something more serious, but consider this; I didn't tell him to come through the gate. I didn't give him permission. You went through. I followed you, and I didn't know if he'd followed or not."

She pursed her lips, looking to the floor for a few minutes in contemplation before gazing back up at him, blue meeting brown.

"I didn't know if he'd followed." Jack repeated. "But if you ask me if I cared?"

"You didn't." She murmured. He shook his head. "No. I didn't. From the first time Alar attempted to segregate Teal'C out of our alliance to the moment we found out what was really going on, if you ask me, I didn't give a damn." He never broke eye contact with her, not for one second. "I don't take it back. I don't regret it." He moved closer. To her credit, she didn't flinch.

"I'm _glad_ he's dead."

Jack didn't know how long they stayed there like that, nearly nose to nose, dangerously close and not just because they were having an argument. Internally, Jack knew what this was really about for Samantha, whether or not she chose to admit it to him or to herself; he'd shown her a side of himself that few lived to tell. Any care, kindness, softness – anything that could show compassion had turned off like a light switch flipped within him. They may not have been able to discuss their mutual attraction, but they both knew it existed. She was questioning her own character now; could she still serve under him, serve beside him? Could she still listen to every order he gave and risk her life for a team under his command? And, the one that concerned him most of all, and selfishly so, admittedly: Would she still feel the same way about him as she did before that damned iris closed?

She still hadn't moved. Carter hadn't so much as backed a centimeter away from him, nor had she looked away.

"You know," Jack muttered, "if we stand here much longer like this, we're either going to keep arguing or…"

"Or?" Sam challenged.

Oh smart, wily, Samantha Carter. She knew exactly what 'or' was. And it wasn't that Jack didn't want to sorely kiss her senseless right now – he loved aggressive Samantha Carter, aggressive Carter was best Carter! – but he knew, as she did, once they started down that road, there was no going back. For at least three years, they'd denied, hidden, ignored, and buried any feelings they had for each other. Any acknowledgement between them, private as Jack's house supposedly was (though he didn't put it above NID or any other government agencies to bug his house at random), would begin a domino effect that would be most difficult to stop.

He was just about to step away when, surprisingly, she relented first, a soft sigh escaping as she lowered her gaze to the floor for a few moments. "I should go," she murmured, reaching down to place her mostly untouched beer on a nearby table before heading towards the door, and fishing her keys out of her pocket. Jack watched her silently.

"Carter."

She turned. "Sir?"

"Are we…." He shook his head, attempting to choose a word, but in the end just settled for, "okay?"

The smile she gave him made his heart leap just a bit, as did her answer.

"Always."


End file.
